


Postmodernism

by apprenticeofcups



Category: The Arcana (Visual Novel)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Boss/Employee Relationship, Dancing, Drinking, F/F, First Meetings, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Gen, M/M, Meet-Cute, Modern Era, Multi, Pole Dancing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-03
Updated: 2019-09-03
Packaged: 2020-10-06 16:24:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,760
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20509982
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apprenticeofcups/pseuds/apprenticeofcups
Summary: Postmodernism is my series of Modern AU Arcana vignettes - a nonlinear, slice-of-life collection as opposed to an overarching storyline.





	Postmodernism

“Need a refill.” Canis plopped his empty tray on the bar, sliding off the white ribbons that held it on his shoulders and sidesaddling a white leather barstool, kicking his feet around the geometric gold legs.

“A refill?” Examining a crystal champagne flute for water spots, Valentin frowned. “Doors haven’t even opened yet.”

Leaning forward on the bar, gold-veined marble cold through the thin organza of his top, Canis stuck out his tongue, stained bright yellow.

“You did _not_ take two dozen Painted Daisies by yourself.” Abandoning the tray of crystal, Valentin grabbed a few bottles off the long red-backlit shelves behind the bar.

Canis shook his head, bouncing the satiny white bunny-ears pinned in his hair. “The new bouncers started today. I was saying hi.”

“Saying hi, looking to score, or giving out your number?” Rolling up the sleeves of his white blazer, revealing the red silk lining inside, Valentin scooped up perfectly-round pearls of ice in a golden shaker embossed with the club logo, a four-pointed star overlaid with a rose.

Canis pouted. “Saying hi.” He undid the single black ribbon that held his top closed, straightening the champagne-pink ruffles before re-tying it. The hem sat just below his solar plexus, and despite the high, peter-pan collar and layers of ruffles, the translucent fabric showed off everything, from the splashes of freckles on his chest and shoulders to the rose-gold barbells in his nipples, sparkling under the house lights with zirconium stars.

Valentin twirled four bottles in careful measures over the shaker, counting the pours from the slotted golden spouts, and stacked Canis’ tray with rose-bottomed plastic shot glasses. His shawl-collar blazer lay open over an oversize black silk shirt, tucked into high-waisted white pants double-breasted with ruby-chip buttons. The shirt was collarless, open halfway down his chest and showing off a flash of the blue, white, and yellow flowers tattooed underneath. “You might want to take it easy on the freebies,” he said, shaking the mixer until frost gathered over the etched-in rose. “Boss is on the floor tonight.”

“Valerius?” Canis laughed. “He never stays in front of house. He’ll come out, sweep the VIP section, and hide in his office all night.”

“True, but not what I meant.” Sprinkling a tiny pinch of yellow powder into each shot glass, Valentin refilled the tray, the clear liquid fixing and blossoming to brilliant yellow when it hit the glass. “The real boss. As in the owner?”

“Really?” Sneaking two shots off the tray, Canis slipped his ribbons back on. “Do we have a double-V party or something?”

Valentin shook his head. “He used to come in all the time, but he’s been busy with the new waterfront location. Now that the grand opening’s over, my guess is he’s making up for lost time.”

“Is that why Asra’s out tripping before sound check?” Canis asked, glancing up at the empty DJ booth, a beaded-scarf cavern on a mountain of speakers over the hyper-modern mirrored dance floor.

“…You’ve never met Lucio, have you?”

“Not in person,” he admitted, feeling his gold laurel-leaf earrings to make sure they weren’t tangled. “Valerius hired me. Asra and I watch his show when we’re stoned, though.”

Valentin made a face. “I don’t know how you can stand that crap.”

“It’s a grown man getting wine-drunk at nine am doing whatever pops into his head for twenty minutes.” Canis raised an eyebrow. “He did a makeup tutorial on a dog. And his dogs are cute.”

“If you say so. Do you want an actual drink?” Valentin added, pausing in rinsing out the golden shaker. “Like a soda?”

“Cherry Coke,” Canis chirped, lifting a pilfered shot to toast him. “With vodka and lime.”

Sighing, Valentin picked up the other shot. “Or maybe water?”

“Or Sex On The Beach?” he countered innocently, clinking glasses.

“Not ‘til after your shift, sweet thing.”

The semi-familiar voice made him jump, downing the shot to cover his embarrassment, though the sharp, fruity fizz did nothing to help the flush in his cheeks. Canis looked up, clutching the ribbons on his shoulders. The house lights went down as he did, bathing the bar in only the hot red club-lights.

The club owner virtually glowed in the near-dark, a blaze of swept-back platinum-blond, pale skin, and stark white jumpsuit, too soft-looking to be leather, too thick to be silk. A black bow tie that had never once been tied draped over the plunging neckline, thick black lines of hidden tattoos peeking out from under the sharp lapels. One three-inch black stiletto propped on the golden rung of a barstool, Lucio shot Canis a wink, eyes roving shamelessly over his sheer shot-boy uniform. “If you can wait that long.”

The outfit was new, but even the things that weren’t—painstakingly-shaped switchback brows, eyeliner curving dramatically over his cheekbones, crooked smile gleaming in the dim light—were much more striking in person than the cracked screen of Asra’s glitchy old iPad. Hastily sliding out of his tray-harness, Canis sat up straight, offering his hand. “I don’t think we’ve met, Mr Morgasson—I’m Canis.”

“Lucio,” he corrected, shaking firmly and lingering for a half-second, turning Canis’ hand to admire his metallic-gold nails. “It’s a pleasure to meet me.”

“Th—” Catching himself, Canis giggled, pulling his hand back to his collarbone coyly. “And me.”

Lucio started to answer when it landed, and he laughed, leaning on the bar. The smooth plastic of his left arm shone like glazed ceramic, painted-on flames and claw-like streaks curling up the forearm. Two tiny gold screws held a ruby-studded wedding band in place on his ring finger. “A Deal With The Devil, Valentin?” He cocked an eyebrow, tearing his eyes away from Canis to look across the bar. “And while you’re at it, registration opened for the Bar in July.”

“You got it.” Valentin barely looked at him, setting out two frosted highballs. “And no, thanks.”

“C’mon.” Lucio pulled out a red leather case from an inside pocket, popping open the flap to reveal a handful of cigarettes, a brushed-gold lighter, and a few matte-black business cards stamped in gold foil, one of which he flicked onto the bar. “’Valentin J Laurenti, Corporate Counsel’. It looks good.”

“That’s your business card,” he shot back, ignoring it and pouring vodka into both glasses, topping one with cherry syrup and a splash of cola, “and my middle initial is C.”

“Can’t use your imagination?” Tucking the card and cigarette case away, Lucio turned pointedly back to Canis. “Valentin here is a summa cum laude law grad who discovered his passion for pouring me drinks instead of putting his half-million-dollar education to work.”

“I was only magna cum laude,” Valentin muttered.

“…I know.” Politely, Canis took his drink from Valentin and made a clearing for it on his tray. “I’m his roommate.”

“And he told me I was an idiot long before you hired me, Mr M,” Valentin added, topping the other highball with dark red wine and a darker red liqueur that sank to the bottom, curling in the clear vodka like wicked black claws, before sliding it across the bar.

Rolling his eyes, Lucio took it. “Don’t call me that.”

Valentin shrugged. “Don’t bring up my nonexistent law career.”

“Sir!” Tripping across the mirrored dance floor in a trying-not-to-hurry hurry, Valerius threw up a hand to flag down the bar, the other patting a colossal black infinity scarf nervously into place. His headset mic was pulled away from his face, in line with the frazzled black flyaways escaping his tight braid.

“Valerius!” Lucio straightened up, lip curling in a scowl. “Wanna tell me why we’re fifteen to doors and I haven’t heard a sound check yet?”

“We’re holding, I—” Breathlessly, he grabbed the bar to steady himself. Without waiting for an order, Valentin brought down a clean wine glass. Clutching a handful of scarf and his golden ram-head brooch, Valerius stammered, “They called in last-minute—I’ve been texting around, but—The Coliseum has a stage show, and Lazaret claims they don’t _have_ a second string yet—”

Lucio held up a hand to stop him, taking a long sip of his cocktail. “Slow down. What’s the problem?”

Chugging a glass of pinot, Valerius let out a breath. “…We’re down a dancer. Not the headliners, thank god, but one of the poles.” He gestured to the far end of the club, the wide half-staircase leading to glittering black tiles and fifteen low, red-cushioned booths, each with its own miniature stage and gilded pole stretching to the ceiling dripping with crystal roses.

“How many does that put us down to?” Lucio frowned.

“Seven.” Valerius winced. “Less than half, which—”

“We have at least one bachelorette party, so a few empty poles are handy, but…hm.” Lucio glanced at, then turned to Canis. “You know your way around a pole?” He snickered, swirling his drink. “Or did those legs come off the rack like that?”

With a little shiver, Canis plucked the cherry out of his drink, teasing it across his bottom lip. “I can work a pole.”

Valentin snorted. Lucio only grinned wider, tracing the cherry’s path with his eyes. “Wouldn’t mind dancing tonight, would you, sweetheart?”

“Mmm…I’ll give it a shot.” Swallowing the cherry and chasing it with another Painted Daisy, Canis licked his lips. “Now I’ll give it a try.”

“Beautiful.” Pulling out an engraved-gold money clip, Lucio unfolded a few bills, snapped them taut, and slid them under the white satin band of Canis’ bunny-ears, palm brushing his cheek. “That should make up the difference in your check. You know where wardrobe is. Pick out something to keep your tips in, and if it doesn’t fit—” He shrugged. “Take it off.”

Shivering again, Canis slipped out of the tray-harness, turning toward the mirrored employee door tucked behind the bar. While the red lights mostly obscured it, he could feel the hot flush creeping down his chest from his cheeks, and took another sip of vodka coke to make the most of the fizzy feeling in his head.

“I’ll sit in on the performance,” Lucio called after him, silver eyes tracing goosebumps over the nape of his neck. “If I’m impressed, you can blow right past the private audition and make it permanent.”

Glancing back over his shoulder, Canis bit his thumbnail coquettishly. “What if I want a private audition?”

“They always do.” Toasting him with a shot from the abandoned tray, Lucio threw it back, licking an errant drop of liquid gold off his fingers. “Like I said—after your shift.”


End file.
